


antonym for fair

by sickgirl_mp3



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: F/M, pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbt i did her so wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 07:06:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickgirl_mp3/pseuds/sickgirl_mp3
Summary: *teenager voice* UGH this isn't fair





	antonym for fair

“C’mon, daddy,” Beyoncé murmurs into Jordan’s ear, biting at it gently. “just wanna play for a minute. It won’t last long-”

 

Jordan cuts her off, making a noise of disapproval.

 

“...If you do it right like I know you always do, babe.”

 

Jordan sighs weakly. “I’ve got somewhere to be in a minute, baby.” 

 

Beyoncé is hard for Jordan to resist, and she knows it. She presses her body closer to Jordan’s and bites her lip when she feels him, hard and pressed against her thigh. The fabric of his pants and her pencil skirt serve as the only thing preventing her from getting what she wants. The palm of her delicate hand runs over his dick and she squeezes gently, looking him in the eye. Beyoncé hears a quiet, but sharp intake of breath from Jordan and she smiles. He grabs her wrist. Silently, he looks at her, and while his expression is stern, she can see want in his eyes. She’s recognized it so easily due to seeing it countless times.

 

His gaze flickers from her eyes to her lips, and his grip on her wrist tightens a bit.

 

“Jordy,” Beyoncé whines. “gimme what I want.”

 

Jordan lets go of Beyoncé and goes to sit at his desk, and she follows right behind him. She tries to sit on his lap and he tsks disapprovingly.

 

“Stay on your feet, mama,” Jordan tells her, “you gotta work if you want me to think about givin’ you what you want.”

 

Beyoncé’s heart rate picks up; she knows that Jordan understands how she gets when he gives out orders, and she’s ready to follow them the first time for once. She’s that desperate. She walks around the desk, hands in her skirt pockets, before she leans on the side of the desk opposite from him and looks at him, eyes gleaming with irrepressible mischief and lust. 

 

“What do you want, boss?” she asks.

 

“Strip, and make it good. You know we’re on a time crunch, honey.”

 

Beyoncé moves closer to Jordan, and she makes a show of bending over to undo the small buckle that held her shoe together.

 

“Keep the shoes on, Bey. You know how things go around here,” Jordan says.

 

Beyoncé slips her skirt down maddeningly slow; Jordan shifts in his chair as he palms himself through his pants wordlessly, and his unrelenting gaze makes her stomach turn in the best way. Her skirt pools around her feet on the ground, and she dips down to pick it up and put it on the desk so it doesn’t get dirty. With every second that passes where Jordan’s hands aren’t on her, where he’s not breaking her down and building her up again in the way only he knows how, she’s unsatisfied. 

 

He bends her over the desk unexpectedly when her back is turned, and his hand comes down on her ass with a very audible slap. Beyoncé jumps and lets out a small yelp. 

 

“I told you we’re on a time crunch, and you wanna fuck around like that?” Jordan asks, running a strong hand over the soft cotton material of her panties. She'd purposely worn his favorite ones. They were red, plain, and Beyoncé could never understand why he liked them so much. 

 

Beyoncé giggles in response, and Jordan grabs at her ass again, fingers pressing into her soft skin before his hand leaves her for a fraction of a second and comes down hard on the other cheek. Beyoncé whines. 

 

“I said something to you, Bey, and I know you can do a lot with that pretty mouth including speaking. Lemme hear you use your words,” Jordan insists. 

 

“What do you wanna hear?” Beyoncé asks, looking back at him. 

 

“Tell me you're gonna be good so I can get to this meeting on time,” Jordan says. 

 

“I can't make any promises-”

 

_ Slap.  _

 

“Jordan,” Beyoncé draws the last syllable out. 

 

“Beyoncé, be good.”

 

“Don't want to, daddy,” Beyoncé replies, moving her ass around in Jordan's face to make him upset. The cold air is a stark contrast to her skin that's stinging and growing increasingly red. “Too much fun.”

 

_ Slap.  _

 

“Stop acting up.” Jordan presses kisses to the uncovered parts of her ass. “Spread your legs a little for me.”

 

Beyoncé does as she’s told and Jordan pushes his chair further back, kneeling on the floor and running his thumb over the damp spot in her underwear that was only getting worse and worse as time passed and Jordan kept being a tease. Beyoncé sucks in a breath and huffs out a frustrated, quiet sigh as Jordan rubs small circles on her clit. It was something, but it wasn't enough for her. 

 

“Daddy,” Beyoncé whines, pushing back against his hand for something, anything more. He moves his hand away.

 

“”Daddy,” what, honey?” Jordan asks, faking curiosity. He puts both of his hands to good use and squeezes at her ass, spreading her cheeks apart and slapping her at random intervals that make her jump. “Daddy’s got you hot and bothered?”

 

Beyoncé whines. 

 

“You want more? Use your words,” Jordan replies, pulling on the waistband of her panties and letting it snap back onto her skin. “Can't give you what you don't ask for, baby.”

 

“You know what I want-”

 

Jordan slaps Beyoncé little harder than usual and she shrieks out Jordan's name. 

 

“You know that's not how we talk,” Jordan chastises. “You’re lucky I don't have the time to handle this- and you- the way I want to.”

 

He kisses and runs his tongue over the wet spot in her panties. He pulls them down, leaving them at her knees, and licks at her once with a flat, broad tongue. Beyoncé shivers and he stands up to lean over her and talk in her ear. 

 

“That’s some of what you wanted, yeah? Or in the same vein, at least,” Jordan asks, straightening up. “Stand up. I want you on this desk, spread eagle.”

 

He punctuates his orders with yet another slap to Beyoncé's ass. 

 

As expected, she obeys, and Jordan picks up the panties she left on the floor afterward. “Keeping these,” he says, putting them in his pocket. 

 

“But-”

 

“But you have a lunch date with friends later? I know,” Jordan says. “Tough luck, babe.”

 

He sinks to his knees and nips gently at the soft skin on the inside of her thighs.

 

“Fuck you,” Beyoncé replies.

 

Jordan spits on her pussy, and though she’s no stranger to that, she gasps. 

 

“Fuck you too,” Jordan bites back casually.

 

He glides his thumb over Beyoncé’s lips and bites his own when she sucks on it languidly. He pulls his hand away from her after a minute and hastily unbuttons her blouse, popping a button or two at the top.

 

“Jordan,” Beyoncé gripes, “that was my favorite shirt.”

 

“Buy a new one, then. Want everyone to see a little more of you and know that they can’t have any, you know how this goes,” Jordan tells her.

 

Beyoncé does know, and she loves it. She’d never let a man believe that he owns her; Jordan doesn’t believe that at all and she’s happy about it. However, Jordan likes to make it known that Beyoncé is the only woman he comes home to and that he loves it, and vice versa. She doesn’t see anything wrong with that. It makes her feel special. 

 

Jordan taps two fingers on Beyoncé’s bottom lip gently. “Open up, Bey.”

 

Beyoncé obliges, taking his fingers into her mouth and wrapping a hand around his wrist so that he can’t move away from her. She swirls her tongue around his fingers, keeping eye contact with him the whole time and batting her eyelashes while she’s at it; she knows that’s what Jordan likes.

 

He falls for it instantly.

 

“You and those pretty ass eyes,” Jordan mutters, “Fuck.”

 

She dares to take his fingers closer to her throat, her eyes watering more and more as they near her gag reflex. Though she suppresses it, every once in awhile she gags. After watching her for a while, he pries her fingers from around his wrist, takes his own out of her mouth, and and gets back on his knees. He leaves an open-mouthed kiss above her clit, moving down to lick at it tentatively. Beyoncé whimpers.

 

Jordan sucks on her clit hard, sliding a spit-slicked finger into her and fucking her with it at a steady pace that was slow enough to where she could ask for him to hurry things up.

 

“Jordy,” Beyoncé says, gently running her hands through his hair, “Hurry up.”

 

Jordan uses his free hand to slap her on her thigh. He lifts his head up to look at her, adding another finger and fucking her slowly. 

 

“Don’t like being ordered around,” he comments, “act like you know that.”

 

“Jordan,” Beyoncé whines. 

 

Jordan glances at the clock. “Christ,” he mutters, speeding his fingers up. He buries his head between her legs again, alternating between sucking on her clit and licking at it with broad, firm strokes. She shudders at Jordan’s facial hair scratching against her thighs.

 

“Tastes that good, huh?” Beyoncé attempts to sound prideful, but fails when her sentence is punctuated with a needy whimper. 

 

“Tastes better than any fuckin’ hundred-dollar meal I’ve had,” he stops eating her out to say. He curls his fingers up, hitting her g-spot, and smiles when she lets out a small squeak. 

 

“Don't like it when you run your mouth,” Beyoncé says with a low hum. “‘m not here to chitchat, J.”

 

Jordan stops everything he’s doing and sighs. “That's it.”

 

Beyoncé groans. “Jordan, I-”

 

“Get up.”

 

Beyoncé stares at him in disbelief. 

 

“I know you heard me. Get up, now.”

 

Beyoncé sits up and slides off of the desk. In a flash, Jordan bends her over the desk and she giggles. 

 

“Don't see anything funny, Bey,” Jordan says, sliding two fingers back into her and thrusting them in and out of her at a relentless pace that has her eyes rolling back, cheek pressed to the desk. His other hand comes down on her ass roughly, sporadically switching which cheek he hits, how hard he hits, and how often he hits.

 

Beyoncé moans loudly, and it borders on sounding as if she’s crying; in this situation, she’s about to. The things Jordan is putting her through aren’t new, but she’s really falling apart, she’s putty in his hands and he’s making it known for the umpteenth time. 

 

“Can’t lie, honey, I really can’t wrap my head around why you could be acting so out of character,” Jordan says casually, as if he’s having a conversation about the weather and not being an absolute fucking degenerate before he has to go do actual work. “This isn’t like you at all.”

 

All Beyoncé can do is let out a shrill little yell and push back against his hand. 

 

“I don’t get an apology at the very least?” Jordan asks, putting on the same terribly fake tone he uses when he wants someone to believe that what he’s saying or doing has pure intentions behind it, “A promise that you’ll do better?”

 

Beyoncé deliberately doesn’t respond aside from a groan she accidentally lets slip, and Jordan huffs out a sarcastic laugh. He stops spanking her and rubs at her clit with his thumb, firm and quick little circles sending her closer and closer to the edge quickly. 

 

“Oh, mama, what am I gonna do with you, huh? All standoffish like I’m not the one giving you what you want; all the way into the little attitude you’ve decided to have toward me today?”

 

“Don’t have an attitude,” Beyoncé weakly grumbles.

 

“You do have a fucking attitude.” Every word is punctuated with a slap, the last being the hardest and on top of one of many reddening marks on her ass. Beyoncé screams at the pain from the action and at his thick fingers working inside her, which in that case, is garnering a more positive type of reactionary scream.

As she nears her orgasm, screams turn into unintelligible cries, and Jordan asks what it is that it’s going to take for her to play nice; she comes with a grated statement of, “Jordan, go to hell,” and soon enough she’s shaking slightly and telling him to leave her alone because she’s so sensitive. Jordan sits back in his chair and she climbs into his lap, grabbing his hand and eagerly tasting herself.

 

Jordan looks at his watch and curses under his breath. “I’m gonna be late,” he says quietly.

 

“You aren’t done, are you?” Beyoncé asks hopefully.

 

“What?”

 

“I want that dick, Jordy,” Beyoncé says as she kisses him. Jordan hums contently into the kiss and laughs, gently pushing her completely off of him so he can stand up.

 

“Can’t always get what we want,” Jordan says, throwing a piece of gum into his mouth and putting on his suit jacket. “Never promised you that, anyway.”

 

“Jordan-”

 

“I’m on a real time crunch right now, I’ll talk to you later, baby, and have fun sitting down with your friends for lunch. Tell ‘em I said hello.” With that, Jordan is out of the door. 


End file.
